


Old Life, New Life

by JuliaJekyll



Series: Ineffable Husbands + Livinia [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cute, Grief/Mourning, Historical References, Inspired by Poetry, Literary References & Allusions, Love, Lovesickness, M/M, Married Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Speech Disorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22532617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll
Summary: Crowley comforts his fellow demon and friend, Livinia, when one of her close friends dies. Several centuries later, Crowley reads a love poem to his husband, Aziraphale.With apologies to Dante Alighieri.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Husbands + Livinia [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1417603
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Old Life, New Life

**Author's Note:**

> I read The Divine Comedy in secondary school and although it was a tough read, it's always kind of fascinated me. In university, I found Dante's La Vita Nuova (The New Life) in the library and read that, too, and ended up thoroughly enjoying it. Some of the lines in Dante's descriptions of his feelings for his beloved Beatrice seem to me like they'd really resonate with Crowley, and of course, I imagine Aziraphale would love to have Crowley reading to him! 
> 
> Livinia is an OC who has been in several of my fics. I loved the idea that she might have helped Dante to write The Inferno, and so, this fic was born. 
> 
> Enjoy! All quoted poetry is from Dante Alighieri's La Vita Nuova.

September 1321 

Ravenna, Papal States 

"I knew he'd die," said the pretty female demon who was sitting on Crowley's bed. She was leaning back against the wall, staring at the ceiling, her face slightly puffy from all the sobbing she'd been doing, a mane of dark hair tumbling down around her face. She wiped wearily at her cheek with one hand, as though to brush away tears even though, as a demon, her body wasn’t actually capable of producing any. "I  _ knew  _ he'd die; they all do, and yet I'm still surprised." 

"It's different when it's a friend," Crowley replied. He crossed the spacious one-room flat and held a steaming cup out to his fellow hellspawn. 

Livinia eyed the cup uncertainly. "Is there booze in that?" 

"Who are you talking to? Of  _ course _ there's booze in this."

Livinia accepted the cup. "Thanks." She took a grateful sip as Crowley sat down beside her.

"I didn't know you had human friends," Livinia said, after a few beats of silence. 

Crowley gave her an irritated glance. “I’m not made of stone. Live up here long enough, you’re bound to find someone you like.” 

“I know you’re not made of stone. If anyone knows that, it’s me.” Livinia drank some more of her alcoholic tea. She sighed. “He was just so  _ ballsy,  _ you know? I’ve always liked that in humans. I mean, he wrote about the Pope going to Hell before the guy was even dead! That takes guts." 

"It also takes guts for such a religious bloke to openly associate with a demon. That's impressive in its own right."

Livinia almost smiled at that. "Hey, I helped the man write his greatest work! He wouldn't have believed all that crap I told him about Hell if he hadn't known I was a demon." 

"I should think not. You told him we had a three-headed dog and rivers of blood."

"Well, to be fair, I didn't come up with the three-headed-dog thing. That was the Greeks. I just 'confirmed' it." She grinned in earnest. "I had a time convincing him that there was a literal hurricane of lust down there, let me tell you."

"I kind of wish that one were true. Can you imagine Beelzebub in that?" 

Livinia laughed.  _ "Come now, don't stop, thizzzz izzzz your punishment! Thizzz izzz your eternity; you should be reveling in it, you oversexed mortal foolzzz!"  _ she said, in an eerily good impression of Lord Beelzebub's voice. 

Crowley gave an exaggerated shiver. "That made my skin crawl." 

Livinia smirked and leaned back, cradling her drink in her hands, and staring up at the ceiling again. "I'm going to miss him," she said softly. 

Crowley raised his cup. "To Dante."

Livinia clinked her cup against his. "To Dante," she echoed. They drank. 

"Did you ever read any of his stuff?" Livinia asked, face angled upwards again. 

Crowley shook his head. "Just those bits of  _ The Inferno _ you read to me."

"He wrote about Heaven too, you know."

"Did you help?" 

"Nah. It's been too long since the last time I was up there. They've probably moved everything around and redecorated by now.* 

"Did he ask?"

"'Course, he asked. All the humans want to go to Heaven these days." She gave a little shrug. "Their propaganda department always was better than ours."

"You reckon that's why Hell is in the condition it's in now? Because no humans want to go down there anyway?"

"Could be, though personally I think it's just laziness." Livinia drained her cup and put it aside. "I could recommend one of his other works."

"It's not the purgatory one, is it? That one is just pure BS." 

"No, not that. You might like  _ La Vita Nuova.  _ Love poetry." 

"Why the Heaven would you think I'd want to read  _ love poetry?"  _

Livinia gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. "Because you're in love," she said simply. 

Crowley stared into his spiked tea. He didn't reply. She had to bring  _ that  _ up, didn't she? It made him uncomfortable, how well she knew him. He'd never even told her how he felt about Aziraphale. He hadn't needed to.

Instead of denying anything, Crowley said "I don't know Italian."

Livinia waved a hand dismissively. "Pshh. You know Latin. Italian's not that far off."

"I forgot my Latin centuries ago." 

" _ Ugh.  _ Where have you been getting your  _ culture _ ?"

"Who needs culture when there's parties and alcohol?" 

Livinia snorted. "And you say your angel's a hedonist."

Aziraphale was decidedly  _ not  _ Crowley's angel, but Crowley didn't correct her. He was thinking about the way Aziraphale's eyes lit up when he was reading a beautifully illuminated manuscript, the way he smiled a bit slyly when someone thought him more innocent than he really was. Crowley felt a smile settle over his own face. 

"Thinking about him, aren't you?" Livinia teased. Crowley just rolled his eyes in response. Livinia leaned her head against the wall, angling her face so that she could look Crowley in the eyes. Livinia was the only person, angel, or demon in the universe whom Crowley was completely comfortable looking in the eyes. She didn't care that he'd been a serpent; he had nothing to hide from her. 

Livinia's eyes were almost solidly black; it was borderline impossible to distinguish pupil from iris. The effect could be intimidating, but Crowley was all but immune by now. He admitted nothing and denied nothing; not because he didn't want her to know the truth - she already did - but because talking about it was too painful.

Eventually, Livinia said "You're even worse than Dante was."

"How do you mean?" 

"With your lovesickness." 

"Dante was lovesick-" Crowley barely managed to cut himself off before the word  _ too, _ and Livinia smiled. 

"Oh, yeah. He wrote  _ La Vita Nuova _ for this girl, Beatrice. Obsessed with her, he was; could never shut up about her." She shrugged. "I never quite understood why. I said to him once, I did: " _ Dante, you've only ever seen her from afar, what's the deal?'" _

"What did he say?"

Livinia put on a masculine voice.  _ "'I was hit by Cupid's arrow, Liv. What can I do?'  _ Satan, he was such a drama queen." She grinned, then abruptly, her face seemed to collapse and she began sobbing, dropping her head into her hands. "I'm...gonna...miss….h-him," she choked through her sobs. "My friend, he...h-he was m-my friend…" 

"I know, Livinia, I know," Crowley said gently, putting one hand on her back. "I know, it's alright, I know…" 

He sat with her all night, talking when she wanted to talk and babbling comforting nonsense when she wanted to cry. Feelings like grief didn't really exist in Hell, or at least, they weren't supposed to; in fact, emotions in general had to be held in check at all times down there. And so, this was really the best thing one demon could do for another: to validate their pain.

A century or so later, Crowley got his hands on a translated copy of  _ La Vita Nuova,  _ read it in one sitting, and wept. 

* * *

  
2 Years After the Almost-Apocalypse

London, England

Even thousands of years after the whole "serpent of Eden" thing, Crowley still had a slight speech impediment. It rarely came out nowadays; it had been much worse before, but even now he still occasionally hissed his s's. It seemed to show up when he was nervous or feeling self-conscious, and he'd always hated it. Now he was reading one of Dante's sonnets aloud, concentrating very hard on not sounding like a snake, so that he could confidently read the verse to Aziraphale in public.

“‘O you who walk along the path of Love, 

Look and see 

Whether there is any sssssorrow-’ fuck.” He placed the paper with the poem on his desk and rubbed his face, frustrated. 

“Take a deep breath, Anthony,” said Kevin, Livinia’s human boyfriend, who was sitting across from Crowley and acting as his test audience. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and leaned forward. “Do you want to start again from the beginning?” 

“I”m really starting to hate this stupid poem,” Crowley said irritably. “Why did I think I could read a poem in public, anyway?” 

“You know Aziraphale and Livvy will love it,” Kevin reassured him. “Dante meant a lot to Livvy, and your husband loves literally everything you do. Hiss or no hiss, they’ll appreciate it.” 

Crowley made a grumbling noise. “I just want it to sound good,” he said. “Not to mention  _ normal.  _ I don’t need to remind Aziraphale of what I am at every turn.” 

“You being a demon doesn’t matter to him. Trust me, I know,” Kevin said. “Livvy is a demon too, and I love her.” 

Crowley looked up in surprise. “Do you?” he asked. “I haven’t heard you say that before.” 

“Yeah, well. I’m thinking I should probably let her know.” Kevin sighed. “I guess you could say I’m nervous about something tonight, too.” 

“Hm.” Crowley looked back down at the poem. “I’ll make you a deal: if I actually go through with this, you tell her.” 

“Alright.” Kevin nodded. “You’ll be fine, Anthony. It’ll be a great anniversary present.” 

“The poem isn’t the present.” 

“Well, a great intro to the present,” Kevin amended. “Who’s all coming tonight?” 

“You, Livinia, Newt and Anathema, Madame Tracy, and Shadwell,” Crowley replied. 

“So it’s a quadruple date?”    
  
Crowley cringed. “Never say that again.” 

“Are you gonna eat anything?” 

“Doubt it. Too nervous.” 

“Should I keep the coffee away from you, then?” 

“You are such a cheeky bastard.” 

“Comes of being a demon’s boyfriend.” Kevin stood up. “Speaking of which, I’m going to go pick up Livvy. I’ll see you at the restaurant?” 

“If I don’t discorporate from terror by then.” 

“Yeah, I don’t see that happening.” Kevin shook Crowley’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “Deep breaths, remember. See you there.” He picked up his bag and left Crowley’s flat, humming under his breath. 

Crowley collapsed on his bed, the poem beside him. He decided to trust Kevin. The guy might be human, but Crowley had to give him credit for how well he’d taken the news that angels and demons were real and that his girlfriend was one. 

* * *

Crowley’s hand shook as he hit the side of his glass, calling for silence at the table. He got to his feet and everyone turned to look at him, pleased and expectant. 

Crowley cleared his throat. “Hi, guys,” he said, and an appreciative ripple of ‘hi’s’ went around the table. Kevin gave him a discreet thumbs up from his place between Livinia and Shadwell, and Anathema smiled at him encouragingly. The witch probably knew exactly what he was about to do. 

Aziraphale’s blue eyes sparkled at him in the restaurant’s low lighting, and it calmed Crowley’s pounding heart. He reached into his inside breast pocket to pull out the poem and placed it on the table, smoothing it out before holding it up again. “Today is the one-year anniversary of my marriage to the man I love more than anything in the world, and I wanted to read this to celebrate that,” Crowley said. He made eye contact with his husband. “Angel, I’ve loved you for longer than almost anyone at this table can even comprehend. Happy anniversary.” He took a deep breath, unfolded the poem, and began to read: 

“‘O you who walk along the path of Love, 

Look and see

Whether there is any sorrow as grievous as mine; 

And I ask only that you allow me to be heard, 

And then judge

Whether I am not the hostel and key of every torment.

Love, not for the slight goodness in me, 

But through his own nobility, 

Placed me in a life so sweet and gentle…’” 

Crowley glanced up to see his audience’s reaction. Aziraphale was sitting rapt with attention, eyes shining with adoration. Livinia had gone very still, her mouth slightly open, and Kevin was holding her hand on the table. 

Crowley continued:

"‘God, in return for what worth 

Does this fellow have such a cheerful heart?

Now I have lost all my self-assurance, 

Which arose from possessing a treasure of love; 

So that I remain impoverished, 

In such manner that I hesitate to sssstate it-’” 

He cut himself off, freezing as the sibilant ‘s’ worked its way out of him. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and went on: 

“‘And so, wishing to imitate those 

Who conceal their want out of shame, 

I display a merry exterior, 

But in my heart I am consumed and I lament.’” 

He looked up again and placed the poem on the table. “That’s, um. That’s how I felt for a long time, when I thought you didn’t love me, angel. But now…” He reached into his breast pocket again and pulled out another slip of paper. “‘The vital spirit, which resides in the most secret chamber of the heart, began to tremble so strongly that it was terribly evident in my slightest heartbeats.” He laid the second paper on top of the poem and looked at Aziraphale. “It’s still trembling, angel, and it always will be. I love you so much.” He raised his glass. “To my husband.” 

“To Aziraphale and Crowley!” Glasses clinked around the table, and Crowley sat down, shaking like a leaf. Aziraphale pulled him close and kissed him firmly on the mouth. “That was beautiful, darling,” he said, kissing Crowley’s temple and cheek for good measure. “I love you too.” 

Crowley reached down and squeezed his husband’s hand. “Thought you’d like me getting into literature.” 

Aziraphale laughed delightedly. “You’re a marvel,” he said. 

Livinia leaned across the table to look at Crowley, still holding Kevin’s hand. “You read Dante’s stuff,” she said quietly. 

“Yeah. Did you like it?” 

Crowley saw Livinia swallow. She nodded. “Thanks,” she said softly. “He’d have appreciated it.” 

Crowley smiled at her. “I hope so. I was bloody terrified reading it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I really love writing this series, so if you've been following it, please let me know that I should continue it! Thanks to everyone who has stuck with it so far!


End file.
